


Jolly French Turns of Phrase

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Demons, M/M, Paradise Regained
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-22
Updated: 2007-01-22
Packaged: 2020-06-10 12:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19503745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: Crowley finds that life is good.





	Jolly French Turns of Phrase

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a time-stamp meme. _Bright with his Splendour_ , six months on.

"You know," Aziraphale said, beaming goodnaturedly at the people strolling, striding and pickpocketing their way across Trafalgar Square, "I do approve of the new you." He brushed the remnants of his nice crusty roll off his lap. Pigeons, as is well known, like elephants never forget, and within seconds a flock that had been patiently waiting for the humans of London to come to their senses vis-à-vis handouts for small grey thugs with feathers appeared from nowhere and started getting territorial over the miraculously multiplying crumbs.

"Hmmm?" Crowley said, staring bemusedly at the sky. The weather was perfect for mid-summer – hot, dry and generally conducive to making him want to coil up and doze. It was, however, late autumn. _Odd_ , he thought, closely followed by, _Nice. Sleepy. Aziraphale's turn to buy dinner._

"I mean, you're so frequently in a good humour these days," Aziraphale said cheerfully. "You hardly sulk at all."

Crowley fixed him with an unblinking stare over the top of his sunglasses. "I think you'll find," he said threateningly, "That I have always been full of a certain merriment of spirit, a _bonhomie_ if you will, or a _joie de vivre_ \-- along with many other jolly French turns of phrase."

"Oh, certainly," Aziraphale said hurriedly. "It's not that I don't appreciate it, dear boy. It's just that there does seem to be rather more _bonhomie_ and rather less, well, _Schadenfreude_."

"Ah," Crowley said, in the tones of one who has seen the errors into which a colleague is inexorably slipping, and who wishes to extend a helping hand clad in the firm-tractioned glove of smug superiority. "There's your problem. That's not a jolly French turn of phrase."

Aziraphale regarded him in irritation. "I do actually speak all languages known to man, you know," he said.

"You should try a few known to women, then. Look, it's too sunny to argue, let's just enjoy it. Unless you _want_ me to move on to types of humour best expressed by other Continental languages?"

"Dear me, no," Aziraphale said quickly. He held out the box of Roses that had formed the greater part of his lunch. "Chocolate?"

"Have you eaten all the strawberry crèmes?"

"Oh, no," Aziraphale said, wiggling his fingers surreptitiously.

Crowley reached in and extracted a strawberry crème. He popped it in his mouth and threw the rolled-up foil to the pigeons. Aziraphale turned it to a particularly filling scrap of bread before it was devoured. Crowley found he didn't care at all, and closed his eyes, slipping into a drowsy slumber as Aziraphale started reading something racy from the late Roman Empire.

When Crowley woke up, the heat had faded from the day. The evening was looking to be clear and crisp, like autumn should be, he thought. There was a pleasant bite to the air that would give them a good appetite as they strolled to their favourite little restaurant of the moment. It was the perfect time to start the hot port season, too. Life was good, Crowley thought, letting the breeze actually flow over him for a moment so that he could have the pleasure of huddling his hands cosily down into his pockets.  
  
Life was good.


End file.
